by Sylvia Nobel
My initial suspicion that this was Jason’s room was confirmed when I spotted a framed photo of him posing with several other skinheads in camouflage gear, smiling wickedly while proudly brandishing AK-47 rifles. I knew I shouldn’t, but I couldn’t resist a closer look. After a cursory glance at the empty hallway, I hurried to the junk-littered dresser and angled the photo towards the light. One of the brawny skinheads standing next to Jason was the evil-looking guy I’d seen in the restaurant and then afterwards in the white truck outside the Shirleys’ house. Interesting. I put the photo back, taking note of the .45 caliber handgun and hunting knife resting alongside a pair of binoculars.
I looked around the room. To say it was unkempt would be charitable. The bed was unmade, piles of dirty laundry lay everywhere, but it was the mountain of books and pamphlets that lured me to the computer desk. Using the yellowish light pulsing from the skull, I sifted through some of the mounds of files containing newspaper clippings. Most were examples of border catastrophes befalling the Arizona ranch community, while some focused on the thousands of illegals apprehended by Border Patrol agents just in the past several weeks. Other clippings contained stories of a major drug bust, and the disturbing fact that the leaders of Mexico’s most notoriously brutal drug cartel were considering moving their operations from Tijuana to the border with Arizona. I was shocked to read of recent incidents involving Mexican troops firing on American citizens inside our own borders. Whoa. No wonder Walter and his wife had called it quits.
There was also a troubling article regarding the reconquista movement. This well-funded Mexican activist group advocated overturning the Guadalupe-Hidalgo Treaty with Mexico and reclaiming the southwestern United States. “Unreal,” I whispered, shuffling through additional articles that told horror stories of American women being raped and several local families being robbed and terrorized by Mexican gangs. There were reams of hate literature filled with crude drawings depicting the systematic execution of Jews, Blacks, Arabs and Mexicans, inflammatory anti-government material and scores of gun brochures. But when I came to information he’d downloaded from the Internet that gave detailed instructions for producing various types of explosives, and accompanying articles on how to carry out assassinations in foreign countries, my insides shrank in horror. This kid was one sick puppy.
Deep in thought, I absent-mindedly set the file back on the uneven pile, only to have the whole thing shift and begin to slide off the desk. I made a hasty grab to keep it from hitting the floor and, in the process, bumped the mouse, which removed the screen saver. Suddenly, I was staring at one of Jason Beaumont’s e-mail messages. “Merrily the feast I’ll make. Today I’ll brew, tomorrow bake; merrily I’ll dance and sing, in four days will some strangers bring.”
How weird. Frowning, I glanced at the top of the screen for the sender’s address but froze when the thump of footsteps on the stairs closed off the breath in my throat. Cautiously, I tiptoed to the door and peeked around the corner. Oh, my God. It was Jason Beaumont. Yeah, I was just the person he’d want to find snooping around in his room. I searched frantically for a hiding place. With no more than seconds to spare, I chose the age-old standby, and dove under the bed as he tromped into the room and snapped on the light. To my utter dismay, he flopped onto the bed, which caused the springs above my head to sag down until they pressed my chin into the floor. With a loud grunt, he pulled off his rough leather boots and threw them down only inches from my face. Phew! The rank smell practically made me gag, but I dared not move a muscle. I shut my eyes, breathing shallowly through my mouth until the wave of nausea subsided.
Holy crap. How was I going to get out of this one Would I have to stay here all night Visions of the luxurious bath, and then crawling into a cozy bed, evaporated. I could have happily kicked my own ass.
Thankfully, only seconds later, he rose and moved to the desk. I tensed. Would he notice that the screensaver was gone I heard tap, tap, tapping at the computer keyboard and then the familiar melodic hiss as he connected to the Internet. Oh, Lord. This could be a very long night. The realization that there was nothing I could do brought tears of frustration to my eyes. I’d just decided things could not possibly get any worse when I heard claws clicking on the hardwood floor and the distinct sound of panting. The dog! Four black paws appeared in the doorway, stopped and then headed right for me. I stiffened with dread when the dog dropped to its belly and stuck its nose under the bed. Loud snuffling of the makeup bag clutched in my right hand and then silence as the dog flattened his chin on the floor and surveyed me with puzzled brown eyes. I cringed, fully expecting furious barks to reveal my hiding place, but instead his tail thumped and he let out a joyous whimper, followed by an expectant yelp. Good gravy. He wanted to play!
“Shut up, Rascal!” Jason roared.
The dog’s tail swished back and forth so hard his entire rear end swayed. He scooted a little closer until his snout was against my face and then he began to enthusiastically lick my cheeks and nose. When he moved around to my left ear, it tickled so much I could hardly keep from giggling. In fact, the whole ridiculous situation made me want to scream with laughter. But the idea of being discovered by Jason was sobering enough to squelch the sensation.
“What the hell are you up to” came Jason’s gruff inquiry.
If I didn’t do something fast, it would all be over. Craning my neck, I looked to my right. There were more piles of paper, shoeboxes and several huge batteries nestled among dust bunnies the size of golf balls. I reached my left hand down beside me and felt around, finally grabbing hold of something made of cloth. I pulled it forward, rolling it into a ball before shoving it towards the dog’s mouth. Gross. It was underwear. Jason’s grubby underwear.
But Rascal seemed thrilled to get it. He grabbed it up. Shook it. Threw it into the air, pounced, then brought it back to me. Obligingly, I rolled it up again and he whined with anticipation before scampering around the room shaking it violently in his teeth.
As expected, his noisy antics finally captured Jason’s attention. I heard the squeak of the chair rolling away from the desk and the pad of stocking feet. He lunged at the dog growling, “What’s this Hey, you like my shitty boxers, boy Well, there are lots more where these came from. Have at ‘em.” Laughing, he threw the shorts back to the dog and left the room.
I listened to his muffled footsteps and when a door slammed, no doubt to the bathroom where the empty tub still awaited me, I scrambled out from under the bed and made a beeline for the other end of the house. Rascal was right beside me. Once we got past the bathroom door, I slowed my pace to avoid suspicion. Before entering the little room once more, my quick backward glance confirmed that no one else was around. With a groan of relief, I collapsed onto the bed and stayed there until my hammering heartbeat subsided. Oh, boy. That had been way too close.
The end result of my foolhardy predicament left me so lightheaded that I could hardly force myself to a sitting position. Rascal sat at the foot of the bed, tongue lolling to one side of his mouth, patiently waiting for me to resume our playtime. “I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced,” I said, reaching out to pet his silky black fur. “O’Dell’s the name, trouble’s my game.”
He scooted a little closer and laid his chin on my knee. I smiled, deciding that so far Rascal was my favorite member of the Beaumont household. I waited another fifteen minutes before venturing to the bathroom again and this time I was successful. Even as I was submerged in the glorious rose-scented bubbles, I could not stop thinking about what I had seen in Jason’s room and no amount of soap seemed sufficient to wash away the appalling sensation of hostility that had permeated his room. I wished I’d had time to stay and see what site he’d visited on the Internet.
A half hour later, I returned to my room. Rascal was gone. It was barely nine o’clock but the house was quiet. Just like Tally and his family, it appeared that most ranchers retired early and rose at first light. If I’d been at the motel in Green
Valley as planned, I’d be using this down time to make phone calls and go online to research the White power movement in this area. On my hands and knees, I searched the room for a phone jack but came up empty. Nothing on this trip seemed to be going as planned. When I stood up, the sensation of total weariness rolling over me was so strong it felt like my bones were melting. I could hardly get into bed fast enough.
In the pitch-black room, I lay there staring out the window at the legion of stars, a veritable celestial banquet interrupted only now and then by an occasional gauzy cloud. The ceaseless wind rattled the windows, and tree branches scratched out a soothing lullaby on the glass as I waited for sleep. But even though I tried to banish all thoughts of the past forty-eight hours, my mind continued to churn like a washer on permanent spin cycle. I thought about Lupe and Javier, Sister Goldenrod and Froggy. Mazzie La Casse’s descriptions of the extraterrestrials whirled in my mind along with the disquieting conversations with Jennifer and Loydeen Shirley. I could picture the smirking face of Border Agent Hank Breslow and the malevolent warning glare from the muscular skinhead. Warning about what And what about the perplexing e-mail on Jason’s computer The words struck a familiar chord, but I could not for the life of me remember where I’d heard them before. Its riddle-like quality seemed strangely reminiscent of Froggy’s distorted nursery rhyme from last night and made me suspect that it was some sort of code. Had Jason been the recipient of his call And if so, did that mean that he was involved somehow in smuggling illegals into the country But what reason would he have to do that Considering his standpoint, it seemed more logical that it would serve his interests better to make sure they stayed out.
The more I chewed on all the possibilities, the more they became a muddled mass of unconnected clues, none of which made any sense, separately or together. Payton, Brett and the rescued kitten were small bright spots, but overlaid across the top of all that was the one subject I didn’t want to approach. I had deliberately avoided it all day, but at that moment I relaxed just enough for the back door of my mind to crack open and it slithered in, dragging with it a sliver of doubt that seemed to seep from the deepest, darkest regions of my heart.
If pushed to interpret the contemptuous stare Bethany Beaumont had bestowed upon me from the doorway of the kitchen a few hours ago, and combining it with the eerie premonition that had enveloped me when I first laid eyes on her, I would have to admit in my heart of hearts that I was suffering from an acute case of jealousy. Oh, I knew myself well enough to know that I sometimes tended to react impulsively, but no matter how I tried to deny it, there remained the very good possibility that her reaction to my true identity stemmed not from her father’s obvious affinity for me, but instead from the fact that she may well have her sights set on Tally. And, of course, that led to the second part of my supposition. What were his feelings towards her Was it possible that she was the overriding reason he’d been making so many trips down here and not, as Champ Beaumont had told me earlier, that Tally was helping them out of a financial bind by purchasing, at top dollar, several hundred head of cattle that he could no longer afford to feed But, what proof, other than relying solely on my instincts, did I have for entertaining such a discomfiting hypothesis Suddenly, his brooding demeanor and testy behavior with me these past few weeks took on new and disturbing significance. And what of Ginger’s secretive reference to another woman, and her somber warning that I was in danger of somehow spoiling our relationship
Growing more heartsick by the minute, my mind skated off in several different directions as I conjured up one distressing scenario after another starring Bethany the blonde cowgirl Barbie doll and Tally. “Cut it out!” I whispered aloud. What kind of an idiot was I Tally had said nothing, done nothing to warrant these unfounded, petty suspicions. Convinced that I was just fatigued, I banished all thoughts from my mind and fell into a deep sleep that probably would have continued until noon if the rapping at my door hadn’t jarred me awake. “Yes” I croaked, propping myself up on one elbow, noting with a twinge of irritation that it was still dark outside.
“It’s five o’clock,” called Twyla. “If you want to go with Champ for that ranch tour you requested, you’ll have to get up now.”
Oh, yes. The tour. When pressed about my unexpected arrival, I’d stuck to my cover story after giving them an abbreviated version of Walter’s move to Castle Valley and my desire to complete the series he’d begun on the border-jumping issues affecting ranchers. Champ had graciously offered to escort me around the ranch property and give me a real education.
Dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved turtleneck, I joined Twyla and Champ for a hearty bacon and eggs breakfast while the kitchen help worked feverishly preparing food for the guests who’d not yet ventured from their warm beds. I felt relieved that neither Jason nor Bethany was present. Maybe I’d be lucky and get away without ever seeing them again. I pushed my plate away while stifling a yawn. Even though I’d slept like a rock, I still didn’t feel rested and had surprisingly little appetite. Strange for me.
Dawn was busy painting the rugged horizon a stunning turquoise blue, and streaking it with vivid magenta clouds by the time Champ finished his third cup of coffee. We had just pushed away from the table when Twyla shot a startled look over my shoulder. “Cecil, what on earth…”
The two Hispanic girls peeling potatoes blushed and turned away giggling, as I followed the astonished stare of the Indian cook towards the kitchen doorway. I could hardly believe my eyes. An elderly man of perhaps eighty stood there with a towel in one hand, and a bar of soap in the other, wearing an expression of total confusion and nothing more. Not a stitch. Nada.
“Christ Almighty,” Champ choked, jumping to his feet and running to the man’s side. “Dad Dad, what’s going on” He grabbed the towel and wrapped it around the man’s slender waist. “Twyla, where the hell is Felix Isn’t he supposed to be watching him”
“I’ll go find him,” she said, hurrying from the room.
As if coming out of a trance, the old guy focused bleary eyes on his son.
“What are you doing here” Champ repeated, gentler this time.
“I thought…well, I was…trying to find the bathroom. Guess I took a wrong turn,” he mumbled. When his gaze landed on me, an odd light of recognition flickered behind his eyes. “Penelope My God, Penelope is that you” Grinning foolishly, he took a step towards me and Champ grasped his arm tighter. “Dad, that’s not Penelope. This is Kendall O’Dell. She’s a friend of Tally’s.”
“Oh Tally,” he repeated vaguely. “Sure, sure.” His wrinkly jowls drooped with disappointment and my insides ached for this man who appeared lost in his own house, in his own head. He was obviously suffering from some sort of dementia and I wondered if it was Alzheimer’s. If so, my heart went out to all concerned. I’d done several pieces on this devastating disease and knew that the victim’s painstakingly slow downward spiral was traumatic for friends and family alike.
“Meester Bo,” cried an equally ancient-looking Hispanic man, rushing to Cecil’s side. “Why do you run away from me like that, amigo” He edged a guilt-laden look at Champ and shrugged his apology. “I am filling the bathtub and I don’t see….”
“That’s okay, Felix,” Champ responded, patting him on the back. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. No harm done.”
“Remember when we didn’t even have indoor plumbing” Cecil remarked with a faraway look glazing his eyes. “We heated the water in a big copper tub and took a bath once a week whether we needed it or not.”
“Si, Meester Bo, I remember,” Felix agreed, leading him down the hallway.
Champ followed their progress with a sad shake of his head. “Sorry about that.”
“No need to apologize,” I said softly.
His anguished sigh filled the entryway. “This is so goddamned tough to watch I can hardly stand it.” His eyes looked a little moist. “You should have known him before
. Big, strapping, happy-go-lucky fellow. Good husband, good father, good provider. I’ll tell you what, he and my uncles and my grandpa worked their hands to the bone, working sunup to sundown, year in and year out, putting up with all manner of hardships to make this place what it is today. What it used to be anyhow.”
“I wish I’d known him then too,” I said.
He brightened marginally. “And could he ever spin a yarn! Man alive. He could give you a complete history about the origins of this ranch and tell you everything there was to know about this whole area going back a hundred years. Still can some days,” he said, tamping his hat down over his thick hair. “Funny, sometimes he remembers stuff from fifty years ago clear as a bell, but he can’t remember what he did yesterday.”
“Who’s Penelope”
The reflective smile softened his craggy features. “My mother. She had real pretty red hair too when she was young. He always called her Babydoll. She died…let’s see, it’s been about ten years ago now. He’s gone downhill a lot since then.”